Guest List
by bondlikejames96
Summary: Set a few months after the events of "Certain Shade of Blue", Posey and Garrus are adjusting to their lives as galactic leaders and a soon-to-be-married couple. But there's a lot that goes into planning a wedding this high-profile, and of course nothing is ever as easy as it seems. It'll take the help of friends, both old and new, and maybe even some family too to make it work.


"Well, shit," Posey Shepard muttered as she spotted a lively, dark-skinned asari briskly approaching across the lobby. Her towering heels clicked a steady beat on the tile, and with every step Shepard wished she had called in sick rather than reporting to this Council meeting. She'd been avoiding this woman like the plague recently, knowing that there was only one thing on her mind right now and it was _not_ something Shepard felt qualified to deal with.

But there was no escape now, as she was stuck in full view and unmistakable in her Council uniform. Posey pulled the royal blue collar up higher on her neck and smoothed down the sleeves as she waited for the distance to finally close between her and the asari. As the gap between them disappeared, Posey noticed half a dozen datapads sticking out of the bag that the woman carried. She felt her face fall in dread.

Nariah T'Doren had been assigned as her personal stylist a little over two years ago, and Posey had been grateful for her clothing expertise in that time. Her Council uniform was far and above the loveliest garment she'd ever owned, even in its simplicity and comfort. The girl was somewhat of a prodigy, so if Shepard absolutely had to have someone else to make all of her clothing choices for public appearances, at least she knew it was someone so charming and capable. Her skills, Shepard knew, would be an incredible asset over the next few months

"Councilor Shepard!" the designer called out with a wave, as though Shepard may not have noticed her rapid approach. Nariah was practically vibrating with excitement, her indigo eyes glimmering as she grasped Shepard's hand in a firm shake. "Councilor, thank you so much for this opportunity. You won't regret this, ma'am, I swear!"

 _Somehow, I already am_ , she thought to herself as she passed a hand over her brow to push back some stray wisps of crimson hair. "Nariah, we've been over this. Stop calling me ma'am. Please."

"Oh, of course ma'am – I mean, Councilor, ma'am. Shepard. Councilor Shepard."

Posey waved a tired hand to quiet the girl, a smirk curling across her lips. "Breathe, Nariah."

A deep inhale and exhale through her nose later, she seemed to calm down, at least for the moment. She reached into the bag on her shoulder and pulled out all of the datapads, cradling them as she inspected each to determine the contents.

"This one here is options for color schemes," Nariah said quickly, passing the first datapad to Shepard. Before she even had time to power it on to review the options, there was another one being placed on top of it. "That one has dress designs for you and your wedding party, and suit designs for all the men involved, et cetera, et cetera."

An image fluttered to life on the screen of the datapad, a sketch of Shepard's own body with a shockingly revealing garment traced on and colored white, with intricate hand-drawn swirls of pale dawn grey. Shepard sputtered a little bit, holding the datapad up to Nariah.

"What in hell's name is this?"

"Oh, that's. . ." A navy blush swept across the asari's cheeks, and she desperately averted her eyes anywhere but the rendering and Shepard's demanding gaze. "It's not for the wedding, _per se_. . ."

"Nariah, I did _not_ ask you to personally design my _lingerie_. I promise, we will manage just fine with store-bought items."

"No, no, no! It's not lingerie!" the girl said quickly, cringing eyes and wringing hands pleading for a change in conversation. "It's a turian thing, I think, you'll just have to ask Chief Primarch Vakarian to explain it to you. . . Please."

" _Nariah_ ," Shepard sighed, already tiring of this entire affair. "Just call him Garrus, for God's sake."

"I, umm. . . Yes ma'am. I mean - um, of course Councilor." Nariah's cheeks still burned as she reached for the next datapad. A proud grin spread across her face as she passed it to Shepard, sweeping a finger gracefully across the screen. "Seating arrangements, already filled out and optimized for maximum positivity amongst your guests. Which, I will admit, was no small task, having to deal with five hundred tables and make sure that everyone will at least not despise the person they are sitting next to."

Shepard chuckled a bit. "I'm sure five hundred tables is bit of an exaggeration, but still, that is quite impressive. This is why I hired you to do it, instead of just going after it myself."

Nariah's eyes narrowed, her head tilting quizzically. "An exaggeration?"

For the second time in as many minutes, Shepard's heart fell into her stomach. "It's an exaggeration, right? Five hundred tables?"

A loud, enthusiastic burst of laughter erupted from the designer, her head falling back and shoulders shaking. "Oh, _dear_ Goddess. They always did say you could have been a comedian, Councilor." She swiped a tear from beneath her eye as her giggles subsided. "How many guests were you expecting, exactly?"

"Well, I was thinking something like... I mean I don't know," Shepard was flustered for words, her free hand waving uselessly. "Maybe four hundred? And even that seems rather excessive, I just -"

Nariah's face fell into her hands, quiet laughter bubbling up again. "Oh, dear Councilor. Four hundred. More like four thousand."

" _Excuse me_?"

"It's going to be the hottest event of the year, Councilor Shepard. Everyone across the galaxy is already begging for invitations, so four thousand seems quite reasonable to me. Besides, your bridesmaids said that number sounded perfectly fine."

Ah, and there it was. "Which bridesmaids did you discuss this with, exactly?"

"Oh, not all of them. Just the Grand Admiral and Dr. T'Soni. They seemed quite content with the number of invitations we sent out."

"You already sent out the invitations to this?"

"Of course, Councilor. I am not known to procrastinate, especially on matters as important as these."

Shepard put her palm to her forehead, accepting her demise. "Fine. As long as I don't have to talk to all of them."

"That certainly won't be necessary, Councilor Shepard. However, you may want to hire a personal assistant at some point in the near future to help you with writing all of the thank you messages for the gifts you will be receiving."

"Great," Posey sighed, "Just great. So who exactly is invited to this thing?"

The last two datapads were added to the stack in Posey's arms. "Here is the guest list," Nariah said sweetly, her teeth blindingly white. "Those two pads have all of the guests invited, the waitlist for invitations, and everyone's addresses."

The stack was heavy in her arms, and she was more than eager to pass the datapads back to Nariah. But the asari shook her head, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder as she said to Shepard, "Those are yours to keep! I have my own copies of each datapad at home, so even if we can't meet in person you can still review the files and decide if there's something you really don't like."

Posey glared at the precarious weight of decisions in her hands while Nariah sashayed away across the lobby. It was going to be a long three months.

#

"Primarch Vakarian, Councilor Shepard is here to see you."

Garrus's eyes opened swiftly, and he sat up in his chair. "Send her in, please. Thanks, Sarel."

The voice on the other end of the comms was world weary, but ungrudging in the way the receptionist said, "No problem." As he waited for Posey to come into the office, Garrus took a few moments to straighten his uniform and throw the stacks of paper on his desk into the empty drawer he reserved for when Posey came by. She hated how disorganized his office usually was, and the first few times she'd visited him here she'd spent hours afterwards reorganizing and refiling all of the mundane papers he received on a daily basis. Their time together was a little more limited now that they were both high-powered galactic leaders. And filing was certainly _not_ how Garrus wanted to spend that time with her.

He had just slammed the drawer shut when the door to his office flew open, and Garrus looked up with a broad grin. Posey's face was drawn and tired, but she still wore that sparkling smile that was always saved specifically for him.

"Hey big guy," she said with a hint of a purr. "Whatcha up to?"

"Trying to get some work done," Garrus chuckled, even as he powered off his desk computer and slid his chair out. Shepard threw a thick bundle of datapads onto his desk, not even caring that they scattered across the surface as she slithered into his lap. His hands went to her waist, thumbs brushing the bottom of her ribcage. Her face was suddenly inches from his, close enough to count every tiny freckle if he hadn't done it a thousand times already as she slept.

The soft little chuckle she gave spurred him onwards, pressing his forehead to hers for just a moment before darting his tongue out to brush across her lips. She moved in even closer, shivering the slightest bit when his talons went to work on the closures of her jacket. It was gone without a second thought, leaving only the rich blue dress that served as the other part of her uniform. Both of them knew better than to take off _too_ much of their clothing here, but the temptation was still there as Garrus's talon tips danced along the zipper that ran down Shepard's spine. His other hand was still pressed firmly against the dip of her waist, and with a tickling twitch of a finger she jumped up out of his lap, squealing indignantly. She leaned against the desk as her crimson brows arced low over lilac eyes, trying for all the world to look angry. But there was not an upset bone in her body just then, and Garrus knew it. He stood up, slowly drawing his gaze over her soft figure, and leaned in towards her, pushing her against the desk until she was fully seated on top of it. The little sounds of enjoyment she made against his mouth plates gave him all the permission he needed to lean her backwards, until her shoulder blades were resting against the datapads she'd thrown down earlier.

Her nimble fingers finally moved to the dress jacket of his uniform, fiddling with the ridiculous numbers of clasps and buckles in a desperate attempt to get somehow closer to him. Somehow, Garrus's better judgment prevailed and he let a little more of his weight settle on top of her, pinning her arms between their chests. A white-hot spark of desire flashed in her eyes, but she relented and her hands returned to the back of his head, massaging his fringe as he kissed his way down her strong jawline and into the hollow at the base of her ear. It was taking all of his strength to keep his hips from reacting the way they wanted to, but he knew as well as she did that this was definitely not the place for that sort of behavior. No matter how far they might have been pushing the boundaries on what was technically acceptable – even for a Primarch and a Councilor - just then.

"Chief Primarch, there's an urgent message for you and Councilor – Oh!" A thin, squeaking voice came from the doorway, and Garrus's head snapped up from where he had been lavishing kisses all across the pale column of Shepard's neck, tracing with his tongue the map of scars that he had memorized by now. It took an enormous amount of willpower to bite back the frustrated growl that bubbled up in his throat, but the salarian looked terrified enough as it was. Her small, ivy-green face, with cognac eyes the size of Palaven right about now, stared at the floor, the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but the two intertwined and panting galactic leaders on the desk in front of her. This was someone new, an assistant that Garrus only vaguely recognized. Then he recalled exactly who she was.

The intern. She'd only been here for a few days now, shadowing various politicians around the embassies, and Garrus had completely forgotten that she had been assigned to observe a holoconference that he had scheduled for later this afternoon. Before that, he was supposed to meet with her to give a brief overview of his duties and explain some of the more intricate workings of the Hierarchy. Yet another thing he had completely lost track of as soon as Shepard's hips had swayed so temptingly into view.

"Oh, _oh_ my goodness," the young salarian stuttered, "I'm s-so sorry, Primarch V-v-Vakarian. I'll, uh, I'll come back later or... Or something, I don't know, umm. I mean, this is kind of urgent, sir, so I really _can't_ come back later, but I see that you two were obviously in the, uh... in the middle of something, so –"

It was still incredibly strange for Posey to hear people referring to Garrus as a Primarch. Back when the war raged on, they'd joked back and forth about where Garrus actually stood by way of military rankings. He'd always brushed the questions away with humor or a quick subject change, but she'd seen the way that Generals and even Admirals of the various Hierarchy branches all paid him deference in their encounters.

When he returned with the Normandy seven years after the destruction of the Reapers, everyone was busy being absolutely dumbfounded that they were alive, so the question of his status fell to the wayside.

Until a couple of months ago, that is, when Dianna Allers had broken the news to the galaxy that Garrus Vakarian and Commander-turned-Councilor Posey Shepard were planning to wed. According to those who advised the Councilors, it simply wouldn't do for a Councilor to marry a 'commoner'. So Primarch Victus had made it a personal mission of his to reinstate Garrus, and to then raise him even higher than whatever he'd been.

Apparently that warranted appointing Garrus to the level of _Chief_ Primarch of the Turian Hierarchy.

Posey hadn't even realized that there was more than one Primarch, much less a whole _council_ of them. A leader for each turian-controlled planet, and each and every one of them now reported to Garrus. During the war, there had been such an astounding number of deaths and disappearances that the entire Hierarchy had been thrown into disarray. After the war was over, as more and more mass relays were reconstructed, the various military and political organizations of each and every species was left to determine who would take the place of the many that had fallen. At that time, Councilor Sparatus had been the foremost choice for Chief Primarch, but he had vehemently refused to take on such a task in his old age. So Victus had come forward and taken over, and for his six-year run he hadn't done a half-bad job. But upon Garrus's return, Victus had been rather eager to step down and defer judgment to the younger turian. It still didn't quite make sense to Posey, but then again turians had always been somewhat confusing in their structure.

Now Garrus had work all the time, never lacking for something to do. Once a month, he had to host a conference with every Primarch in attendance, be it physically or by hologram, as well as Councilor Sparatus and the heads of the Cabal and the Blackwatch. The meetings could run anywhere from three to nine hours, depending on any number of circumstances that affected their economy and species as a whole. Those days, Posey always had his favorite dinner ready at seven, just in case the conference happened to wrap up in decent time. But more often than not, he wouldn't stumble in through the door until one or two in the morning, completely exhausted and cursing the names of various Primarchs.

He tired so much more easily these days, after the intensive treatments for Corpalis over the last eight months. According to Dr. Belen, the results had been overall extremely positive, but Garrus was never going to have the boundless energy of before.

That's why Posey took what time she could out of her own workdays to make little visits like these, though _usually_ they weren't interrupted. Sarel was very good about holding all of Garrus's calls or visitors any time Shepard popped in, and would never even knock on the door unless something dire had occurred.

The intern, however, had apparently not gotten the memo. Flustered beyond words, and perhaps even a little embarrassed at being caught undressing his human bondmate in his office during work hours, Garrus reached out a hand with as much patience as he could muster. The girl placed the datapad she held into his waiting grasp and then took a couple of steps backwards. Her foot caught on the corner of the door as she tried to leave, and the glass of neon-blue soda she'd been carrying was suddenly splattered all over the white of her jumpsuit.

She just stood there, mouth open in absolute mortification, ocean-blue stains creeping across her uniform like a spider's web. Shepard thought to herself that she'd never seen a salarian look so utterly shocked. And that was saying something, considering the amount of time that she'd spent with Mordin, on the Collector mission where scientifically impossible things seemed to throw themselves at their team with every step.

Garrus's face was suddenly somber when he looked up at the young salarian, nodding tersely. "You're excused. Thank you for delivering this." The girl couldn't get out fast enough, but made sure to watch her steps as she rounded the corner and disappeared. Shepard turned to him, her hand brushing against his arm.

"What's wrong, Garrus? What is it?"

"It's for you, actually," he said softly, brow plates furrowing. "I... You just have to look at it."

A chill raced across Shepard's skin, unease pooling in her belly as she took the datapad from his hand. The message was already pulled up, with a subject line simply reading, _**'I should've sent this sooner.**_ **'**

 _Posey,_

 _This will seem strange to you. Maybe strange isn't the right word – more like crazy, or stupid. Impossible. Something like that. But this is something that I've_ _wanted_ _needed to say for a long time. A really long time. I'm not sure it's something you'll want to hear, or if you'll even believe it, but I'll say it here anyways. You can do with this information what you wish._

 _On Mindoir, you fought for me. You protected me with everything you had, and you only left when you had no other choice. You thought I was a goner, and you ran to save yourself. I don't resent you for that, please understand this now. Nothing I've been through is your fault, Posey. And I'm not going to go into what happened here, without seeing you face to face. If that's what you want._

 _I survived. There are scars, physical and mental, but I made it through a lot of trouble, and I'm safe now. I'm on Mindoir again, I opened up an orphanage when I came back here. I didn't even realize you were alive until the news stations were blowing up about you getting engaged._

 _Which we can talk about when (if) you come to visit. A turian, Posey? What the hell?_

 _Anyways, I hope this gets to you. The comms signals here on Mindoir have just recently gone back up, and they're still working on making them consistent. So, if you do get this... I hope you come visit. Or at least respond to this message, so that I know you're really okay. Plus, there's some people I want you to meet._

 _I hope I get to hear from you soon. I miss you, so much more than you know._

 _All my love,_

 _PCS_

The datapad fell from Shepard's grasp, clattering on the floor. Garrus's hands were instantly on her arms, supporting her in case she were to crumple in shock. His icy gaze searched hers for answers, concern etched in his handsome features as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Posey, who was that from?"

Her fingers shook as she gestured limply at the datapad on the floor. It took a few breaths to summon enough air into her lungs to speak, but when she did her voice was choked and breathless with excitement. "Poppy. Poppy Claire Shepard."

Comprehension broke like the dawn over Garrus's face, reflecting the swell of Shepard's heart in her chest.

"Garrus, that's a message from my sister."


End file.
